


As The Romans Do

by aelingreywaren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clurphy brotp, F/M, Fluff and Angst, History Nerd Bellamy Blake, M/M, Tour Guide Bellamy Blake, political intern Clarke Griffin, travel AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6697678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelingreywaren/pseuds/aelingreywaren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Clarke Griffin gets more than the fling she bargained for on her Italian vacation. Featuring History Nerd Bellamy Blake, copious amounts of Wellven (say it with me, Wells Jaha desereved better) and Clarke x Murphy friendship because I will go down with this BROTP. </p><p>"Standing at the bus terminal Clarke tried to remember how the hell she’d gotten herself into this situation. How she’d possibly managed to wind up in this incredibly un-Clarke like mess. </p><p>“So what do you say Princess,” his voice was low and challenging, “ready to take a risk?”</p><p>She knit her brows and frowned up at the unnerving face she’d spent the last two days unable to ignore, “I think getting on a bus to Rome with a glorified stranger qualifies as more than a risk.”</p><p>He smirked and leaned his head down, close enough that she failed to suppress the shiver running up her spine. “But we’re not strangers are we?” </p><p>No, her cheeks blushed furiously, they weren’t."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had taken Clarke Griffin all of 3 seconds to agree to a 2 week escape to a secluded Tuscan villa with her best friends. Wine, carbs, and a chance to forget about how much she hated her job? Nothing had ever sounded sweeter. In fact if she was being perfectly honest with herself any one of the three would have been enough to convince her to go.

What she hadn’t agreed to was spending 2 weeks in a secluded Tuscan villa third wheeling her best friends. 

She’d found this information out a week ago after another boring day at the office

“Murphy what do you mean you aren’t coming?” 

She could practically picture him with his feet kicked up on his desk, testing how far back he could lean in the office chair before he landed on his ass. “Sorry Griff, can’t afford it right now. Jackson’s been riding my ass hard ever since I stole the company credit card.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and chastised him as well as she could over the phone, “I thought you said you _borrowed_ the company card.” 

“I did borrow it. What I failed to do was ask for permission… it’s not my fault the people in finance are too uptight to see the distinction.” 

She rubbed her temples in frustration, “Why do you always get yourself into these situations?” 

Murphy sighed melodramatically, “The universe. It hates me.” 

Clarke thumbed through the papers on her desk absentmindedly and groaned.

She heard a scoff over the phone, “Oh don’t you groan. You’re the one who got vacation approval to go to freaking Italy. _Italy_ , Griffin.”

She peered over the top of her cubicle to make sure the fact that she was blatantly avoiding work was going unnoticed, “Yes, Italy, where you and I were supposed to be single together while Wells and Raven make us nauseous with their love.”

“Well now you won’t have me to stand in the way of your romantic ventures. _When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie that’s amore_.” At this point in their friendship Clarke could admit that Murphy was talented at many things. When it came to getting on her nerves the boy was a fucking prodigy. But singing… her cringe said it all. 

“Yeah keep going with that and you’re gonna get more than a moon hitting you in the eye.” 

He laughed over the phone, “You, my friend, are lacking in the subtlety department. Oh don’t be so bitter Griff. Think of it this way, now you’ll be forced to go find yourself some fun.” 

“I’m fun!” she countered just as Meg from across the hall walked by and looked at her skeptically. Clarke sunk deeper into her chair. 

“You keep telling yourself that. Look I’m as bummed as you, but it’ll be fine. Just pack some Gravol and bring me back some wine or a hot Italian girlfriend.” 

She shook her head in disbelief even though she knew he couldn’t see it, “Tell me again why we’re friends?”

“Because I’m the only one who doesn’t treat you like the daughter of a senator.” 

“Possible senator,” Clarke muttered bitterly.

“You and I both know that what Abigail Griffin wants, she gets. And I’m also the one who snuck your drunk ass out of the Christmas party before mommy saw.”    
“That was a good night,” she reminisced.

“Seriously Griff relax, have some fun. Get away from this shit hole for a while, I mean uh, office, this beautiful wonderful spacious office,” Murphy’s voice became more muffled and she had a sinking suspicion that their conversation was no longer private. 

“Yes sir… I’ll be sure to get those done sir… This is definitely not a shit hole sir. You want me to what?” She could barely make out the grumble, but she was pretty sure Jackson was currently asking Murphy to recite, “I am the shit hole.” It was fitting really. 

“Listen I got to go, text me later,” he said in a rush.

“I’m still mad at you,” she made sure to note. She heard his familiar scoff on the other end of the call, “You’re always mad at me. Have fun Griffs - don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

With that the call ended and all the while Clarke was thinking a better statement would have been “don’t do anything I _would_ do.” Even after working together for almost half a year John Murphy’s lack of inhibition managed to surprise her even on his best day. And yet somehow the damn kid never got fired, he was like a damn cockroach. 

The two of them had met at the start of Clarke’s mother’s campaign for senator, both as interns although everyone knew that Clarke was already looked at as far more than that, not by her own volition mind you. No matter how hard she’d tried to be seen as just any other intern, Abby Griffin somehow always found a way to make her stick out. Clearly letting her own daughter make her own name was something beyond the scope of her capabilities. 

Years ago, almost back before a time Clarke could remember, her mother had been a surgeon and apparently a damn good one at that. But after a law suit had taken over the hospital accusing a handful of doctors on counts of faking clinical trials, Abby became fed up with the system and turned towards activism. Her father, an avid activist himself, had supported through it all and there was a time when after Abby’s surgery salary had run out the Griffin’s were living pay check to pay check. Funnily enough those were the times Clarke looked back on most fondly. 

It didn’t take long for activism to turn to politics, and for politics to turn to a position on the City Council of Hartford. The public was enthralled, and councillor turned to mayor and by the time Clarke started college Abigail Griffin was the second youngest person and the youngest woman to ever hold the Governorship of Connecticut. And now here they were 4 years later, Clarke having just graduated from Yale as a dual art history and poli sci major, and her mother going at it again, this time for a position on the United States Senate. People could say what they wanted about her mother, but at the end of the day she was bold, unapologetic, and knew how to go after what she wanted. What she didn’t know however was how to keep a family together. 

Clarke had spent three months after graduation trying to find a job outside of Conneticut. She wanted out, always had. She loved the idea of being on the West Coast, but by the time she’d made up her mind, Masters applications had closed and she was left like 80% of her graduating class. Working for her parent. Surprise, surprise. Clarke hated the campaign. Don’t get her wrong, she was grateful for the job, but she hated the way her mother had become someone unrecognizable to her, the way she’d almost stopped being able to recognize herself. 

At least in college she’d been able to maintain some modicum of anonymity, but there was no hiding it here. She wasn’t just Clarke, she was Clarke Griffin, the name following her around like she was branded with it. 

And yet there’d been one person who didn’t seem to hate her for her position in the campaign, and that was Murphy. From day one he’d treated her the same way he treated everyone else, with sass, crudeness, and a general disregard for respect. And it had been the most refreshing thing she’d experienced in years. The two had cultivated an unlikely friendship almost immediately, although it could be described as love-hate at best. He was a tough pill to swallow even when appeasing the powers at be, never mind when he was around people who couldn’t hold him accountable for his actions. 

She’d introduced him to Wells and Raven after a couple of weeks of working together and the four of them had become fast friends. Even though the three of them were arguably as close as any group of friends could get, Clarke having known Wells from birth and living with Raven from freshman year of college, they were practically inseparable and yet Murphy had fit right in. 

“I adapt Griffin,” she remembered him saying, “It’s how I survive.” 

And now here she was, a week later sitting window side in a three person row next to her other two best friends. 

“Is she still pouting,” Wells asked from the aisle seat. 

Raven looked over at her with a teasing grin on her face and nudged her playfully in the ribs, “You bet your ass she is. Girl gets a 2 week trip to Italy and spends the whole flight moping.” 

Clarke closed the cover of the Italian travel guide she’d been perusing and turned to face them, “I am not moping. I’m educating myself, unlike you two. There’s a lot to see in Italy you know, we need to plan our days out.”

“You know what else there’s to see in Italy? A villa,” Wells leaned over and grabbed the book from her, “with a pool. and a bar.”

Raven swatted her boyfriend affectionately and grabbed the book back from him and passed it to Clarke, “Please, you know she’s going to geek out the second she steps into an art gallery. Let the girl have her fun.” 

Clarke beamed at her while sticking her tongue out at Wells, “See this is why she’s my favourite.” 

“Mine too,” he said endearingly while giving Raven’s leg a squeeze. Raven rolled her eyes, but Clarke didn’t miss the easy smile that passed between them. Clarke pretended to gag out of obligation and self respect, but if she was being honest with herself she was glad the two of them had finally gotten together. Wells had spent 2 years, 2 damn years, pining over Clarke’s badass of an aerospace engineer roommate. Granted half that time Raven had a good for nothing, definition of fuckboy, needs a hair cut or 20, boyfriend. Clarke wanted to shudder at the thought of Finn, thank god Rey had gotten out of that mess.

And yet Wells had pined for her, all the while refusing to admit his feelings even after they’d broken up. _Stubborn idiot_ , she thought fondly, but who could blame him. Raven was the definition of intimidating. But Clarke hadn’t missed the way the two of them seemed to light up around each other, the soft smiles they’d share and the carefree teasing. It was different than the way they were with her, but Clarke had been the first one to cheer when they’d finally figured their shit out. 

It’d changed her friendship less than she thought it would. Other than the fact that Clarke now lived alone, it was as if nothing changed. Well almost nothing. Unfortunately the happy couple no longer had to hide their sickeningly adorable feelings from each other, and from literally anyone else. 

“You two are the worst,” she muttered half heartedly while putting the travel guide aside and setting her sketchbook onto her lap. They still had a 5 hour flight in front of them, she might as well make the most of it. 

Raven laughed, “At least you get to be single on this trip. I’m stuck with this one.” 

Wells shot her a hurt look, “I’ll have you know that I’m offended.” 

“I know baby, your ego bruises like a peach.”

Clarke snorted, “She’s got that much right.” 

“I take it back,” he said, “neither of you are my favourite. Murphy is my favourite. Take me back to Murphy.” 

“You’ll see your brofriend in two weeks, I’m sure the two of you will survive.” Raven turned to look back at Clarke, “So what’s the game plan Griffin. We finding you a hot Italian fling?”

Clarke laughed, “I don’t think Murphy’s gonna let me come back home if I don’t.” 

Raven squealed excitedly, “Oh my god yes! This is going to be perfect. You and your damn dry spell have let my match making talents go to waste.”

Clarke had to admit Raven had a point there. The last person Raven had set her up with had been Niylah, and even though that never went beyond casual hookups it certainly had not been a bad way to pass the time. For a straight girl Raven was suspiciously good at finding Clarke hot girlfriends, or at least hot flings. 

“And,” Wells piped in, “You’ll have me there to be your wing man.”

Clarke shot him a dead pan stare, “Wells. The last time you were my wing man you let me leave the bar with Lexa, just look how well that one turned out.” 

Wells cringed, “Not my finest moment.” 

She laughed in response, “You can say that again.” That breakup had been by far the most brutal she’d experienced in her life and since then Clarke had all but sworn off dating. It was easier this way, always had been. But that didn’t mean she’d sworn off having a little bit of fun. 

Raven yawned, “Ok I’m out, Wells switch with me you kids can chat away and wake me up when we’re no longer in a tin can 30 000 feet above the ground.” 

Clarke shook her head, “Of all the things to be scared of, you’re scared of planes. You can't tell me you don't see the irony in that.”

Her best friend shot her a glare, “If you’d spent 4 years studying how to put these things together AND take them apart then your ass would be paranoid too.” And with that she leaned her seat back and shucked on a less than flattering night mask and passed out. Raven had an uncanny talent for sleeping just about anywhere. 

“So,” Wells started now that he was sitting next to her, “How are things over at Team Griffin.” 

Clarke groaned and replied sarcastically, “About as good as you’re probably imagining.”

She looked over at her friend whose face donned that solemn and concerned look it always morphed into whenever he was worried about her. “Thank God you got out Wells,” she said as she leaned against his shoulder. 

He smirked softly, “I don’t necessarily think getting out was my choice.” 

Clarke scolded herself for her own insensitivity. Thelonius Jaha had been a renowned politician just like her mother until a shooting had left him paralyzed from the waist down. He’d since retired to California where he spent his days meditating and joining God knows what kind of new naturalistic movement. He was happy now, or at least he sounded happy. Clarke was pretty sure the elder Jaha had lost more than a few of his marbles since the accident, but still. Things had been tough going for a while there and the accident had hit Wells hard. 

She looked up and saw that Wells wasn’t upset he was smiling softly, “Relax Clarke, I think it was a blessing in some way. My dad he was becoming someone…”

“Unrecognizable,” she finished for him and he nodded. Wells knew. The two of them had navigated a childhood in the political landscape together. Some things could be left unspoken.

She sighed heavily, “Promise me we’re not going to end up like them.” She’d sooner die then wait for the day when her fake smile became indistinguishable from her real one. Somedays that reality seemed closer than she cared for. Those days when she slipped into the role of the perfect daughter all too easily, and forgot to bring herself back out. 

“Not possible. Now no more talk of politics and campaigns or the future. These two weeks are about us, and forgetting all the crap we’ve got to deal with back home, got it?”

She smiled softly, “Always so damn bossy.” 

“Well someone had to keep your ass out of trouble.”  
She leaned back into her own seat, “I resent that.” 

He cocked an accusatory brow, “Governor’s Ball. 2011.”

Well that certainly shut her up. 

“You know I’m not going to admit that you’re right, right?”

Wells laughed, “I don’t need to be told things I already know.” 

Clarke couldn’t help but snort when a pissed off Raven reared her head, “Ok I take it back. You and Gossip Girl over there can pick this up when we land, sleep time now.” 

Wells snuggled into her while she tried to fight him off before reluctantly giving in and eventually the two settled into some semblance of a comfortable position. Or at least as comfortable one could get in economy. 

Clarke dimmed the lights above them and settled into her own seat as deeply as she could. When sleep didn’t come she popped in her headphones and pressed play on one of her favourite art history lectures she’d recorded. And yes, she was that extra. If her mother was going to buy her a 120 GB phone she might as well fill it up. She shut her eyes as her old professors familiar soothing voiced filled her ears. Behind shut eyes she remembered the paintings she’d spent hours pouring over during her fourth year Renaissance Art seminar. The thought of finally being able to see them in real life as opposed to prints in the pages of books made her giddy with excitement. Sleep finally took her as thoughts of Botticelli, Raphael and all the greats swirled across her consciousness, blissfully keeping the memories of gunshots, divorce trials, and loneliness at bay.

 _Maybe this would be good_ , she allowed herself to entertain the thought. It had to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**10 hours later**

“Clarke, this is insane.”

Clarke whipped around to look at her friends whose eyes were red and blood shot. Raven looked like she wanted to kill someone and Wells fought to unsuccessfully stifle a yawn.

“I’m sorry, who was the one who booked a flight to get us into Rome and a bus to connect to Florence for 10 o clock in the morning when the key office doesn’t open until 2 and our rental car isn’t even available until 1?”

“Murphy actually,” Wells muttered.

“One day,” Raven whispered ominously, “One day I will kill him.”

Clarke snorted, “He’d only come back and haunt you from the after life.”

Raven blanched, “Oh god, ghost Murphy.” Now that was a horrifying thought indeed. Clarke stopped and waited for the two to catch up with her as they dragged their suitcases along the cobbled streets. She’d sensibly opted for nothing but a large duffel bag, a choice she definitely wasn’t regretting as she heard Raven swear as the wheel of her bag got wedged between the stones once again . She nudged Raven who looked like she was about to pass out atop her bag. “It can always get worse. Besides nothing we can do about that now, so we might as well make the most of things.”

Wells piped in, “Could making the most of things include getting a pizza?”

Clarke frowned and crossed her arms, “You literally just ate.”

“Yes, but that was airport food, this would be pizzaaaa.”

“Mmmm pizza,” Raven echoed as she sagged against him. _Typical_ , Clarke affectionately thought to herself. The two of them really were perfect for each other.

“Come on,” she said as she playfully kicked the backs of both their heels. After some complaints the two moved along and Clarke was starting to get the feeling that she’d be spending a lot of time alone on this vacation, or spending a lot of time scolding - her friendship with Murphy had certainly honed that particular talent.

“Well damn Griffin,” Raven exclaimed as they finally quit the alleyway they’d been trotting along, “This place ain’t half bad.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress a smile as they finally saw what she did. She’d brought them to the Piazza del Duomo, and the sight before her eyes was breathtaking to say the least.

“You know what else looks beautiful,” Wells started. Raven bat her eyes up at him expectantly, but he turned and pointed in the opposite direction. “Pizzeria. She’s a beauty, she’s a grace, I think I’m in love.”

And with that he was already off. Raven fixed Clarke with a disparaging look, “One track mind I swear to god.”

Clarke laughed, “You’re the one dating him, you get to deal with it.” Her best friend let out an undignified scowl. “Here,” Clarke continued as she slipped her duffel bag off her shoulder and handed it to Raven, “Watch this will you?”

Raven draped it casually across her shoulder and smirked as if she wasn’t surprised Clarke was already bolting. “What, no pizza for you?”

Clarke shook her head and took in the sights around her, “No way. I’m going up, the line doesn’t look too busy.” Her friend smiled at her amusedly, “I shouldn’t be surprised. Ok Griff don’t forget about us.”

“I won’t, but I’ll try. Don't let Wells get too carbed up, I’m not dragging his ass out of here.”

Raven laughed and set off to follow her boyfriend while Clarke grabbed a handful of newly exchanged euros and stuffed them into the pocket of her jeans. She wrapped the scarf she was carrying in her backpack around her shoulders not wanting to take any chances at being refused entry. Clarke Griffin had no intention of playing into the ignorant American stereotype thank you very much.

She waited her turn in line all the while admiring the architecture, she’d only seen in the pages of textbooks, up close. Even though half the building was shrouded with metal work and draping, a tell tale sign of the restoration and cleaning the Duomo regularly underwent, the sight before her still managed to leave her speechless. Her hands itched for the set of pencils currently sitting in her backpack and a part of her almost wanted to quit the line right where she was and sit at one of the cafes and pour over her sketchbook until she finished capturing the magnificent cathedral’s facade on the page.

But she resisted, she’d have plenty of time for that later. That was if Raven and Wells could keep their pestering to themselves.

She entered the cathedral with a group of French tourists quickly breaking off from them the moment they entered. Clarke’s mother had all but forced her to learn French in elementary and middle school, along with German, piano, skating, and God knows what else. Like all talents her mother had attempted to forcibly draw out of her, in Clarke’s own misguided attempt at teenage rebellion which she now regretted, Clarke had actively done her best to try and forget them.

The main floor of the Duomo was already abuzz with tourists and Clarke easily blended in with the throngs of people craning their necks to admire the infamous ceiling. Vasari’s fresco loomed over them all, it’s depiction of the Last Judgement both beautiful and haunting — a chilling reminder of what was to come, that is if you believed in such things. Her eyes scanned over it as best they could from her less than ideal vantage point and she knew that she could stare at it for hours and still miss countless details.

Eventually she tore her eyes away from it and made her way to the stairwell leading to the top of the cathedral. After a good 400 steps Clarke had given up on her futile attempt at counting, hating herself for being the kind of lazy asshole who never exercised.

_“You’re going to die of heart disease one day,” Murphy had chastised her over a late night box of pizza at the office._

_She’d thrown a napkin at him, “Oh shut up, what do you even know about heart disease.”_

_He’d clutched his chest melodramatically, “Alas fair Griffin my old soul is well versed in the maladies of the heart.”_

_She’d rolled her eyes and continued to unapologetically stuff her face with pizza while he went on some Shakespearian monologue she’d rolled her eyes at all the way through._

She remembered the conversation now with annoyance. _Damn Murphy_ , not that she’d ever admit it , but he’d maybe been right. After being not so politely pushed out of the way by the same grumpy French man she’d been in line with earlier, Clarke made her way up the last few steps, panting all the while, to the outside of the dome. People here were standing shoulder to shoulder, straining their arms out to capture photos of the sight before them from this angle and that.

She made her away around until she found a gap in the crowd she could squeeze into. She didn’t have anything to take photos with on her besides her phone — between the two of them Wells had always been the camera savvy one. Clarke snapped a few photos for her friends’ sake to show them what they were voluntarily missing, trying to her best to manage a panorama shot and failing. She figured she’d try and recreate the images on paper later although she was somewhat peeved at the fact that she couldn’t just set up camp up here.

The city spread out before her and from her view point she could make out everything from the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio to the rolling hills of Tuscany behind it. The characteristic burnished rooftops were an artists dream. Though Hartford too had it’s charms and history, nothing about her home town could compare to this. From up here it was almost as if the city was frozen in it’s 14th century splendour. After committing the sight of Florence sprawled out before her to memory as best she could, Clarke reluctantly made her way back down the stairs which were far too winding and narrow for her taste. She made a point of glaring at the French guy’s back before sidestepping him on her way down, manners be damned.

As she quit the cathedral she made sure to shuck off the scarf she was wearing. Clarke hadn’t really realized how long she’d taken in there, but when she got out it was high afternoon and the Italian sun was going to make her regret not slathering her pasty ass self with sunscreen earlier. She circled around the building and made her way to the steps facing the golden doors of the baptistery which were mercifully shrouded in shade. Clarke sat down on the cool marble regretting the fact that she’d opted for jeans instead of shorts. Then again, she’d naively thought she’d be in the villa by now, although she was sure Raven would spare her from giving Murphy a mouthful for that oversight later.

Around her the steps were mostly filled with tourists eating lunch. Despite the fact that Well’s desire for pizza was starting to take over her too, she threw her scarf behind her and placed her backpack between her legs spreading out her sketchbook atop them. From where she was sitting the sun behind her conveniently bounced off the East doors. Clarke did her best to sketch the Gates of Paradise although the task would have rendered itself far easier to paint or foiling. Her rendition didn’t displease her, but her eyes soon started wandering to the cafes and their customers at the periphery of the square.

She knew it might have been perceived differently by some people, but Clarke loved people watching. Humans and their interactions fascinated her, especially when the subject was oblivious to the fact they were being studied. There was something oddly personal about the anonymity of it all, the act of sketching a stranger you will never meet or know and yet somehow being able to capture who they are in one faithful moment down onto paper. In their blissful ignorance to the prospect of being observed, people were the most vulnerable - the most open. Through art she could craft a narrative that captured that honesty, freezing a brief moment in time forever onto the page.

Clarke thought of one day opening a gallery, maybe just a small one — a place where she could showcase the portraits she’d done over the years. It was a small hope of hers, one she didn’t deign to dream about too often. She wondered what would happen if by chance one of her unassuming subjects were to walk through the door and see themselves on display through another’s eyes. Would they be happy with what they saw? Would they even remember who they were back then? Would they want to?

Sh scanned the crowds, seeing the adoring couples sitting across from one another at a table laughing over gelato. It wasn’t hard to swap in Raven or Wells for any of the pairs. She watched as tourists ran rampant, their emotions ranging from awe at the history surrounding them to frustrated glances at their wristwatches when it dawned on them just how long they’d been standing in the heat and waiting in line.

Eventually her eyes settled onto a man. He looked her age, maybe older, from where she was sitting it was hard to tell. His head was bowed over a book and Clarke couldn’t help but think that at that angle he was bound to get a neck cramp. Almost as if reading her mind his hand stretch up to rub the strained muscles and she self consciously tore her gaze away. After a few moments her eyes were again pulled to the mysterious stranger. He seemed to be unaware of the fact that she was staring at him absorbed as he was in the novel he had propped open atop the cafe table. Clarke could tell it was a paperback, probably a new one from the way he pressed down on the stiff spine at the turn of every page. However besides the fact that it was thick paperback Clarke couldn’t discern much else so she refocused her attention on the man himself.

She pivoted her body slightly to get a better angle; no one around her noticed, just as none of the other patrons of the cafe seemed to notice him. Clarke thought that a bustling cafe facing one of the most popular squares in the city seemed an odd choice for a quiet afternoon of reading. The two discarded cups of coffee on the table led her to conclude that it couldn’t have been just a casual visit: him pulling out a book to pass the time while waiting for someone, maybe a date, to join him. And yet he seemed unperturbed by the commotion around him.

Clarke watched him from her spot on the steps for a little while longer as he flipped through the next two pages. She wanted to try and capture his mannerisms, perhaps she’d be able to glimpse a smile, or a gasp - any sort of emotion to the text before him. However she had no such luck, his features seemingly betraying nothing besides a quiet kind of stoicism and concentration. She finally settled on drawing him as he was, she was too invested now. She began by slowly tracing the outline of his form, one hand spread atop the upper edges of the book while the other was folded into a half fist to serve as a resting place for his cheek. He was wearing a simple dark blue shirt, perhaps not the best choice for a day like today, but it left the defined and noticeably tanned muscles of his forearm visible to her.

She wasn’t close, but she did her best with what she had, trying to perfectly replicate the lines of his body. His face on the other hand rendered itself an entirely different sort of challenge. She couldn’t make out much, not with the way it was angled down towards the table, nor with the way his unruly black or deep brown curls lay atop his forehead. Still, she meticulously traced the hard line of his jaw onto the page. She didn’t know how long she sat there as her pencil began to work quicker and quicker pausing only when she lifted her head to take another glance. Eventually the portrait was complete, well almost. Clarke pursed her lips as she got to the eyes. She knew she wouldn’t be able to make out their colour from here, after all she didn’t have the visual acuity of a damn hawk, but she’d hoped to at least be able to glean something from them.

She lifted her head a final time, only to find that the stranger’s face was no longer bowed. No, his eyes were fixed directly on her.

Clarke had never been caught mid sketch before, at least not while sketching anyone she didn’t know. She was sure there may have been a few instances where people got curious, but no one had ever directly confronted her, albeit silently, like this before. She tried to brush it off by convincing herself that maybe he just happened to glance in her direction, but his gaze remained focused on her and her alone. Clarke swallowed and remained still. Her palms had gone sweaty and she couldn’t understand why she felt so nervous pinned under those eyes.

 _Not the time to be worrying about that Clarke_ , she thought. She steeled herself and narrowed her eyes, swallowing any embarrassment she might feel and challenging the stranger right back. Now she could see his eyes, and in them she recognized a look that was a mixture of both curiosity and calculation almost as if he was trying to size her up. Though it was almost imperceptible she could have sworn the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk as he raised an incredulous brow in her direction. Clarke’s cheeks flared and she was the first to pull her gaze away uncomfortable with the way the tables had turned on her.

She gathered up her sketchbook quickly while trying to maintain an air of nonchalance as if to suggest the fact that she’d just been caught didn’t bother her in the slightest. She threw the backpack across her shoulder and stalked off in the direction where she’d left Wells and Raven. Though the temptation was there, Clarke resisted the urge to steal a glance at the stranger, to check whether or not he was still watching her with that disconcerting look plastered on his face. Even still she could practically feel his eyes still burning into her retreating form.

Clarke made her way around the corner of the baptistery and back down along the wall of the cathedral. Once she knew she was out of sight she paused for a moment and knelt on the ground in the crouch. She quickly pulled out her sketchbook and drew in his eyes — she wasn’t about to leave a work unfinished. Though she’d never seen the particular look she’d chosen to sketch in reality, something told her it was fitting. Still flustered she smiled at the drawing, at least it hadn’t turned out half bad, and put the sketchbook into her backpack and the stranger out of her mind.

A few moments later she was reunited with Wells and Raven who were still sitting at a table at the Pizzeria.

“Dear God,” she said as she approached the table which was covered with empty plates littered with the remnants of their orders. “How many did you order?”

“Yes Wells,” Raven berated, “Tell Clarke how many _you_ ordered.”

Wells drowsily sat up straight for he’d been practically lounging in his chair and winced at the sight before them before regaining his composure. “Well to be fair, they were going to kick us out if we didn’t keep ordering.” Clarke thought it was fitting that Wells had chosen to start law school, the guy was a natural at rationalizing his actions.

“Yeah, yeah ok enough with the justifications,” Raven countered as she turned her attention back to Clarke. “And what took you so long, I had half a mind to go up there looking for you myself.”

Clarke snorted, “Oh yeah I can see that happening for sure. I took my time, did some sketching.”

Her friend looked at her backpack, “Oooh can we see?”

Clarke’s thoughts immediately returned to her newly finished sketch and she paused. “Uh how about later?”

Wells shrugged as he stood and handed Clarke her duffel bag from beneath the table. While he was signalling for the waiter to pay, Raven and Clarke moved their bags out of the way to stand in the square. Clarke tried to remain interested in what her friend was saying, but her eyes kept shifting left and right almost unconsciously.

“Helloooo Earth to Griffin, what’s up with you? Why are you so shaky?”

She turned to find Raven staring at her and scanning her up and down, “I’m not shaky, I’m fine. It’s probably just the jet lag.”

Her friend frowned at her, but didn’t say anything more on the subject when Wells joined up with them. “Ok I called the place and they have the key ready for us now. It’s about a ten minute walk from here.” Raven groaned and Clarke patted her arm sympathetically.

“We can head over there now and the guy said his son can hitch us a ride to the Enterprise office.”

“Bless him,” Raven said, “Bless his soul.”

Wells laughed and turned towards the direction Clarke had been avoiding.

“Uh wait!” she called out. Wells and Raven both looked at her curiously, “let’s go this way.”

“Why?”

Her mind raced to find a reason, God was she starting to get a headache. Griffin women were definitely not made for heat. Ah yes! _Heat_.

“Shade! we should just head down one of the side alleyways it’ll be cooler that way.”

Wells laughed and Clarke frowned, placing her hands on her hips. “And what is so funny?”

“Raven have you looked at her?”

Raven turned her head to study Clarke and smirked in amusement. Clarke huffed, “ _What_?”

“Girl how did you manage to already get sunburnt.” Clarke glanced down at her shoulders which were in fact significantly redder than they had been a couple of hours ago. She clearly hadn’t noticed when her place on the steps had ceased to be an escape from the sun. She’d had other things on her mind. Other things that clearly hadn’t included remembering to put her scarf back on or into her bag, damn it.

Wells sighed mockingly, “White people.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at the both of them and the two of them continued their mocking as she trailed along next to them as they turned down a nearby side street without argument. She walked side by side with her best friends, piping into the conversation here and there all the while remaining distracted. Her thoughts kept circling back to the way the stranger had held her gaze unabashedly, the way he’d seemed to be reading her from across the distance between them. She felt thrown off kilter and frustrated with the fact that she’d let him have any sort of effect on her at all. More than that she was also annoyed she’d been forced from her spot on the steps.

She refocused her interest to the conversation at hand, actively burying any thoughts about the nameless face she was now carrying around between the pages of her sketchbook. She supposed it was no different from any of her other portraits and yet she couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion that it was. And perhaps that was the most disconcerting feeling of all.

**Author's Note:**

> These latest Bellarke eps have got me feeling some type of way and I just couldn't resist from finally getting this idea down on paper. This is my first work I've posted to this site, but I'm excited to try it out!


End file.
